


All the Pins Inside Your Fretted Head

by reallooney



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Trypanophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:27:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26172688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reallooney/pseuds/reallooney
Summary: Jaskier cuts his finger while skinning a rabbit, and Geralt learns about Jaskier's fear of needles.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 229





	All the Pins Inside Your Fretted Head

Geralt poked at the fire, cultivating a nice bed of coals. Usually he didn’t have the time to coddle the fire like this since he was also the one making the food, but tonight Jaskier was preparing the meal. Yes, Geralt had caught the rabbit, but Jaskier was skinning it and readying it for roasting. The bard wasn’t too fond of this task, but Geralt decided that if he was going to follow him around the wilderness as he hunted down monsters, he might as well learn some useful skills. The past few nights Geralt had explained everything as he did it, showing Jaskier step by step how to skin and gut the small animals they often ate while traveling through the woods. Tonight it was Jaskier’s turn to give it a try. Geralt set him up with the necessary tools and observed as he began to, somewhat messily, skin the rabbit. At first he sat and watched, offering criticisms and tips, but once he was satisfied that Jaskier was getting the hang of it, he left to go tend to the fire. 

He didn’t look up from the flames until he heard Jaskier yelp. Even then Geralt didn’t look up right away. He knew Jaskier didn’t enjoy the task. Something had probably happened that looked or felt unpleasant, and that had been the cause of the exclamation. Honestly, he was surprised at how little complaining the bard had done so far. It wasn’t until Jaskier started swearing that Geralt knew something had gone wrong.  
He got up from his spot at the fire and walked over to where Jaskier sat. His first reaction was that he was really making a mess of his task. Then he realized the excess of blood wasn’t coming from the rabbit, it was coming from Jaskier’s hand. 

“What happened?” Geralt asked, trying not to sound gruff. 

“I cut my finger.” Jaskier looked up from his seat on the ground, cradling his bleeding right hand in his left. 

“Let me see.” Geralt retrieved his waterskin and sat down next to Jaskier, the rabbit forgotten. 

Geralt took his hand and poured water on it, washing away the rabbit blood to reveal a short but deep cut on Jaskier’s second finger spanning from the place where his finger joined with his hand to his first knuckle. It was bleeding too heavily for Geralt’s liking. 

“How did this happen?” Geralt asked, genuinely confused as to how Jaskier had managed to cut this part of his finger.

“I don’t know; my hand slipped.” 

“You know, if you didn’t want to skin the rabbit there were easier ways than this to get out of it.”

He winced as Geralt gently pulled the edges of the wound just far enough apart to see how deep the cut went—not all the way to the bone, but damn close. 

“Very funny Geralt. Can you please just wrap it up?” 

Geralt got up to retrieve his medical supplies from his bag.

“I’m going to have to stitch it first,” he called over his shoulder. 

He was surprised to see how uneasy Jaskier looked when he turned back around. 

“Can’t you just wrap it up tight? It’s not that bad,” Jaskier tried to argue. 

Geralt pulled out his needle and began to sterilize it in the fire. 

“That’s a deep cut. If it got infected you’d be in for a nasty time. Better to just close it up now.” 

“It looks worse than it is, really.” His voice was breathy, and just a little too fast. 

Geralt chuckled. “Correct me if I’m mistaken bard, but you need all ten fingers to play the lute. A couple of stitches will be worth it.” He began to thread the now clean needle, sitting back down in his spot next to Jaskier on the ground. 

“Geralt, I would really rather not.” 

“Don’t be stupid Jaskier. It’ll only take a minute. I promise, I’ve had plenty of practice.” 

He reached out to grab Jaskier’s hand, ready to clean the wound and prepare it for suturing, but he pulled it back, going so far as to scramble backwards, away from the Witcher. 

“Geralt, I’m serious. Stop.” He was sitting with his back up against a tree several feet away, his hand pressed against his chest and shielded by his uninjured one. He didn’t seem to notice or mind that blood was getting all over his nice doublet. 

“It’s just going to keep bleeding,” Geralt warned. “I don’t want to be responsible for you losing a finger Jaskier.” 

“I don’t care. I can’t, I won’t.” His voice was shaking now, and he looked truly afraid. 

Geralt had never seen Jaskier like this. The bard was many things, but cowardly wasn’t one of them. What was going on that Geralt wasn’t understanding, and why was it upsetting him so badly? 

Geralt walked toward him, and Jaskier tried again to move away, only succeeding in pressing himself further back against the trunk of the tree. Plenty of people reacted to the Witcher like this, but never Jaskier. Geralt hated to think that he had done something to upset him. 

“I’m serious, stop,” he repeated in a panicked voice. “Don’t bring that any closer.”

Geralt stopped, holding his hands up so his palms faced Jaskier, showing him that he held only a wad of cloth in one hand and nothing in the other. 

“What’s going on? What did I do?” 

At this, Jaskier seemed to relax a bit. “I can’t do needles. I just can’t.” 

That was what it was about? This could be a serious problem. 

“Jaskier, you’re going to have to. We can’t leave a wound that deep open.” He did his best not to sound insensitive. 

Jaskier’s breathing was much too fast and his face was pale. He looked as if he were about to pass out. He really seemed determined to make his cut the least of Geralt’s worries, didn’t he. 

Geralt kept his hands up as he slowly approached the tree. Jaskier let him come and sit down again, the needle and thread still back where they had been sitting a few minutes before. 

“Can I see your hand please?” He asked, countering Jaskier’s panic with a calm and even voice. 

Apprehensively, the bard extended his hand. Geralt took it and wrapped it in the cloth, applying pressure to try and slow the bleeding. The cut would still have to be stitched though. He just hoped he could do it without losing Jaskier as a friend or sending him into a full panic. 

Geralt had done so many sutures in his life, on himself and others, that it hardly crossed his mind to be bothered by them. They were almost as routine as bathing at this point. Now that he thought about it though, Jaskier always seemed to excuse himself whenever Geralt was stitching himself up after a particularly rough brawl with a monster. He wished he’d noticed this earlier; he probably could have handled this situation better if he’d known Jaskier was afraid of needles.

Even now with the needle left behind, Jaskier’s breathing was much too quick. He was still in serious danger of entering a full blown panic attack. 

“Alright, forget about the stitches,” Geralt began. “We’re going to meditate.” 

“What?” Jaskier looked at him, confused and wary. 

“You’re heart rate is too high,” Geralt explained. “It’s just going to make the bleeding worse. I promise I won’t stitch anything up until you’re ready. Alright?” 

Jaskier nodded, his hands shaking. 

“Okay, close your eyes,” he instructed. 

Jaskier obeyed, his injured hand still held firmly in Geralt’s. 

“Now try and follow my breathing.” He began to take slow, even breaths, listening as Jaskier tried to do the same. It took longer than Geralt would have liked, but finally Jaskier’s heartbeat slowed. 

“Okay.”

Jaskier opened his eyes as Geralt exhaled and began to speak.

“What can I do to make this easier for you?”

“There’s no situation where I avoid the stitches altogether?” He didn’t sound hopeful.

Geralt shook his head.

“Okay. Right.” 

Geralt could feel the blood starting to soak through the cloth. He didn’t want to tell Jaskier to hurry up, but the more time that passed with the cut untreated, the more uneasy Geralt felt. Jaskier still looked too pale for his liking.

“I don’t want to see the needle.” 

Perfect. Yes. He could do that. 

“Of course,” Geralt said. “Are you ready then?” 

Jaskier nodded.

Geralt took Jaskier’s good hand and placed it on the cloth. “Keep pressure on that,” he instructed, standing up to go and retrieve the needle. 

He made sure to keep it out of sight as he brought his medical supplies over to where Jaskier sat. He lifted the cloth to look at the cut. It was still bleeding. No matter, the needle needed to be re-sterilized after being left on the ground anyway. 

“More pressure,” he said before going back over to the fire to prepare the needle. If it was still bleeding when he finished, then he would worry, but for now nothing seemed to be too out of hand. 

“Do you want me to explain things while I do them?” Geralt asked when everything was finally ready to go. 

“No,” Jaskier responded, “just do it.” 

He tensed as Geralt took his injured hand, which had thankfully stopped bleeding by now. 

“It’s not the needle yet Jaskier, you can relax.” 

He didn’t relax. His hand shook as Geralt unwrapped it and cleaned the wound. 

“Jaskier, look at me,” Geralt said. 

Jaskier looked up from the spot on the ground where he had been staring for the past several minutes. 

“You’re okay. Everything is fine, but you really need to relax. I can’t have you shaking like this.” 

“Right. Sorry.” 

Geralt felt bad, but he’d never dealt with Jaskier like this. He didn’t know the right things to say. He just wanted the bard to be safe and comfortable. 

“Come here.” He pulled Jaskier closer to him, in a position where he could hold on to Geralt while still not having to see what was going on. He put the bard’s good hand over his heart, so he could feel it beating and the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. 

“Follow my breaths, okay? And don’t look down.” 

Of course, this didn’t work. As soon as the needle pierced his skin, Jaskier inhaled sharply, holding his breath and gritting his teeth. He would need to find a different tactic. 

He did his best to not let himself become frustrated. He had no idea what Jaskier was going through, and he needed to be patient. 

“Why don’t you tell me a story,” he suggested. The way they were sitting, their faces were so close that Geralt could see each bead of sweat on Jaskier’s pallid face. If he could keep him talking, he might better be able to keep a steady breathing pattern. The last thing the Witcher needed was Jaskier passing out before he finished the stitches. 

“Tell me the story about the first time you got drunk,” Geralt suggested. 

He’d been told this story before, but Jaskier had been fairly drunk on that night as well, so he doubted the bard remembered. It was a funny story though, and he didn’t mind hearing it again. Anyways, talking about himself always seemed to make Jaskier feel better. It was one of the most endearing things about him. 

“The first time I got really drunk was right after I started at Oxenfurt,” Jaskier began. His voice was shaking at first, but as the story progressed he seemed to relax, more focused on explaining who he’d been drinking with and where, and exactly how many drinks in he was when things had started to go sideways. The Jaskier in the story hadn’t even made it back to his dormitory by the time Geralt announced that the suturing was done.

“Really?” Jaskier looked down at his hand, seeming to regret this decision immediately when his face paled again as he looked at Geralt’s handiwork. However seasick he might appear though, he also looked proud of himself. He should be; he’d done well. 

Geralt bandaged the finger and then helped Jaskier up, making sure he was steady before letting go of his shoulder. 

“Everything okay?” he asked. The bard still looked uneasy. 

“Yeah, it’s fine,” he assured him. “I’ll just go refill your waterskin then,” he said, picking up the now empty waterskin from where it had been left on the ground. 

It would have been no trouble for Geralt to do this task himself, but he could tell Jaskier wanted a few minutes to himself, so he let him go. 

While Jaskier did this, Geralt busied himself trying to put together a semi-decent meal now that they didn’t have the rabbit. 

It took longer than it should have for Jaskier to get the water. Geralt was just about to get up and go look for him when the bard returned. He looked as if he might have been crying, but Geralt couldn’t quite tell. Picking up on emotional signals was Jaskier’s forte, not his. 

He came and sat in front of the fire, not looking at Geralt as the Witcher handed him his portion of the meal. 

“Feeling alright?” Every part of Geralt’s nature told him to keep quiet and let the bard experience his emotions on his own, but this was Jaskier—he couldn’t just let his friend suffer in silence. 

“I’m sorry, Geralt.” 

This took him off guard. Jaskier had nothing to apologize for. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Earlier, I feel like I made a big deal out of the whole stitches situation.” 

Geralt had to keep himself from laughing so Jaskier wouldn’t get the wrong idea. It had been a bit of an ordeal, yes, but all he’d been worried about was Jaskier getting through it alright. It hadn’t been any sort of inconvenience for him to take a few extra minutes to make sure Jaskier felt safe and comfortable. The idea that he might have something to apologize for was ridiculous. 

He walked over to the other side of the fire to sit next to Jaskier. 

“You make a big deal out of everything. That’s why I keep you around,” he joked. 

Jaskier lifted his head, looking Geralt in the eyes for the first time since he’d returned. 

“I’m serious,” he said. “That wasn’t fair to you.” 

“I’m serious too. Don’t feel bad. You put up with a lot traveling with me. There’s no shame in needing help sometimes.” He put a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. 

“Thank you. Really, it means a lot.” 

“Of course,” he took a long pause before finishing his thought. “I’m glad you’re here.” 

Jaskier looked up at him and smiled, looking like himself for the first time since cutting his finger. 

“I am too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: If there's a canonical story about the first time Jaskier got drunk, I have not come across it yet, but I don't mean to try and rewrite canon or anything. Also rip to that rabbit. Gone, but never forgotten.


End file.
